


Home is the sailor

by eleanor_lavish



Series: Home is the sailor [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He has been turning the question over in his mind for weeks, but looking at Athelstan, standing in doorway of the tack house in his threadbare shirt, smiling at Bjorn and blushing at the kiss Floki smacks on his cheek, it is right. It is terrible, but it is right.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is the sailor

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote [this meta on tumblr](http://lavishness.tumblr.com/post/47144672589/okay-you-guys-here-is-the-thing-about-athelstan) and then I wrote this fic that is basically my meta in fic form??? I don't even know, you guys.
> 
> Title from A.E. Housman's poem of the same name.

The boat is already docked at the end of the mooring, men hoisting sail and provisions onto it, when Ragnar asks. He has been turning the question over in his mind for weeks, but looking at Athelstan, standing in doorway of the tack house in his threadbare shirt, smiling at Bjorn and blushing at the kiss Floki smacks on his cheek, it is right. It is terrible, but it is right.

“Do you wish to come, priest?” he asks, and Athelstan shakes his head, smiling, before he realizes there is no humor in Ragnar’s eyes. He goes still and Ragnar presses closer, pulls them around the corner and away from prying eyes. “Do you wish to go back to England? I would give you your -”

“I know what you mean,” Athelstan snaps, suddenly flushed with anger. “You offer me this like it is a _gift_.”

“I offer what you are owed,” Ragnar replies. 

“And what would I do in England, Ragnar?”

“You would be a priest,” he says, confused. “You would commit yourself -”

“And where do I put all of the things I have seen, the things I have done?” Athelstan grabs hold of Ragnar’s vest, his fingers like vises. “How would I - I spent my whole life in the dark,” he says, nearly a whisper. “Before you took me, I knew so little of the world.”

“Of its sins,” Ragnar says, because the priest pointed them out for months, each new and glorious sin he encountered.

“Yes, those, but also its _joy_ ,” he replies, and Ragnar is close enough to feel him trembling. “The _beauty_ in the world, Ragnar, the _fire_ and the _passion_ in it. There were men in my life who spoke of God with such passion, such commitment, but for me my life with God was always one of quiet reflection, of duty. Here -” he cuts off with a choked sob and Ragnar puts Athelstan between himself and anyone walking by, pressing him to the wall of the tack house. Athelstan’s hands press against his stomach, fingers curling in his tunic, woven for him that winter by Gyda and Athelstan’s own hands.

Athelstan’s eyes are cast down at the place where their bodies meet. When he speaks, it is like a warm breeze on Ragnar’s neck. “I have found my fire here; I can finally feel the blood in my own body, feel the cold on my cheeks in the winter, feel the strength in my own hands. I’m afraid if I return to England, I will never feel alive again,” he says, and Ragnar exhales roughly.

“I thought you should have the choice,” Ragnar tells him. “You have earned a journey home, in payment for my many debts to you.” For Gyda, and Bjorn. For his own life, once held in Athelstan’s now-strong hands.

Athelstan looks up at him then, eyes blue as the ocean. “I believe... I am home,” he says, voice quavering but certain. “Ragnar -”

Ragnar cannot hold back from it, hold back the dam of affection he feels toward this man, this man who is _his_ , by choice now more than circumstance. His kiss is brutal and bruising but Athelstan just winds his arms around Ragnar’s neck and moans into his mouth. He reaches down to hook a hand around the back of Athelstan’s thigh, rutting them together so that Athelstan cries out. Lagertha finds them thus, entwined together, Ragnar’s fingers tugging on Athelstan’s curls, biting at his throat, their hips moving almost without their bidding.

“You have the most terrible timing in the world, husband,” she sighs.

“This one is the fault of the priest,” he pants and Athelstan hides his face in Ragnar’s neck with a wet laugh.

“Well, the boat waits for your inspection,” she says, and Ragnar takes a reluctant step back. Athelstan looks half-wild, his neck red from Ragnar’s beard, his lips puffed and pink. There is color to him, an early summer tan on his forearms and his neck from work in the fields, and a high blush to his cheeks. He puts his hand on Athelstan’s neck and he can feel it too, the blood coursing through Athelstan’s veins. He is so alive, it nearly hurts Ragnar to look at him.

“Do not stay away long,” Athelstan says to him, his eyes as sharp as they are lustful.

“Only a few weeks,” he promises, and gives in to his need for another quick kiss, then another. Lagertha’s hands tug him back.

“The sooner you go, the sooner you will return,” she says to him. “I will look after him while you are away,” she adds with a sly grin, and Ragnar wonders if he needs to go after all. She rolls her eyes as she reads his mind. She folds her hand around Athelstan’s as Ragnar takes long steps backward, not turning from the sight of them.

“Do not spoil him,” he cautions and Athelstan leans closer to her side with a slow smile.

“I will save enough for you,” she says and Athelstan laughs with her. 

Ragnar growls, but his mouth curls into a smile. He must leave, his men wait for him. “I will pray to Thor for a swift wind,” he calls to them. 

“I will pray to Freya, with the priest,” his wife calls back, her arm snaked around the priest’s waist. Ragnar laughs, but kicks at the dock in frustration; they look like everything Ragnar has ever wanted, standing together - light and dark, fierce and tender.

“Be safe,” Athelstan calls from the hill. It’s a terrible request, but Ragnar will heed it, just this once. 

Just this once, he will think more of the return than the journey.


End file.
